A Missing Poem: ABP Sequel
by achildofthestars
Summary: HouseCam. She doesn’t want to listen to him, but she can’t pull away, he’s holding her so close. She slaps his chest three times, each time hoping he’ll fall to the ground, but he doesn’t. And once the tantrum is over, she hates herself for the thought.
1. Tell me everything is fine

_**Disclaimer: **_Nope, House I own not.

_**Poem - **__Tell me everything is fine.Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart. We both know the fault is mine. Tell me I'm forced to fight it out. Give me hope for something constant. Tell me pain is fleeting. Enough burdens are on my shoulders. Tell me somewhere along the way. Say anything to make me forget. Tell me you're not afraid. Keep your fears to your lonely self. Tell me when I don't want to hear. We've gone through this before. Tell me nothing stays the same. Reality realities only matter. Tell me we can't face our destiny. I might not like what I see. Tell me you won't let go now. I've been trying so hard to stay. Tell me we won't break. We've been broken so much before._

It never changes to stop

The touch of evening comes with gentle fingers and soft colors. She stands, hands in trouser pockets, waiting for something to change. This is her last day as House's fellow; it should mean something. Instead, the sun keeps lowering, dark is rising, and she feels nothing different.

It's been a long five years trying to learn everything from the self-proclaimed master. It's been a short two years trying to teach him to love again. Now, both are no longer students, a relief. Change is good however, and this time she's finally ready for it.

He knows she'll be just down the hall, working under Foreman for a few more years until the present Head of Immunology retires. He's already counted the steps to her new office, planning a sort of risqué christening. Seeing her standing alone in the conference room, nearly takes his breath away. It's cheesy to admit, but she's the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Memorizing the view?"

She turns, slightly gasping because she's lost herself so deeply in her mind. Taking a few slow steps, she meets him in the middle of the room with hands on hips.

"I thought you were getting dinner?"

"I thought that I thought I was too, but then I thought that all this thinking is such a killjoy. So, instead I got this."

The small rectangular box is one she's seen before in the gift store. Filled with eight pieces of chocolate, it's barely a snack, but from him, she doesn't mind. It's a small gesture that lifts her heart.

"Oh, this _so_ does not get you off the hook. I'm starving."

"Don't worry. We can get some on the way out, Allison."

"Using my name doesn't get you any points," she says as she lets her fingers slightly tug on the pockets of his blazer so no space is left between them.

"House?"

"Mhhhmm?"

She brings her head up, locking on his stare, and let's her voice continue in such a soft whisper that even she isn't sure she's said anything. "I can do this."

The statement sounds like a question to his ears. Carefully, he brushes her bangs out of her eyes and feels her capture his hand. She shouldn't have to ask. She's relying too much on his opinion, and it's time for that to stop. But he suddenly finds himself thinking before saying anything.

"I know."

* * *

"I'm telling you, they're both worthless. I'd never thought I'd live to see the day when Chase was the best at anything." 

"What are you doing?"

"Checking my pulse. Still alive."

Wilson shakes his head. "You'll get used to them eventually."

"Or I could fire them and not have to worry."

"Oh no, I am not about to go through interviews again…."

He hears something about 'interviews' and 'worthless' along with 'disaster' coming from Wilson's mouth. As soon as he spots Cameron in the tray line, everything begins to slow. An E.R. nurse runs into the cafeteria, searching above heads before seemingly finding the target. He runs to her, placing a hand on her arm and leaning in close to her ear. Lines become crisp. Sounds fade into mumbles and hums. For just a passing beat, he thinks he can hear the words on the man's lips before the world decides to keep moving.

* * *

Feet of lead don't let her get anywhere. Muted sounds don't make it easier to speak. Totaled cars don't keep family safe. 

She knows she's running before the nurse can even stop explaining what's happened. The burning in her chest is just from the exertion of muscles, not from fear or panic.

They won't allow her into the O.R., and even though she knows why, it doesn't ease her dread. Arms grasp her shoulders, deeply and forcefully, but still barely able to keep her away. Beyond those doors is her goal and she'll be damned if they stop her.

* * *

In all of five years, he's never seen her so hurt. Not with any case, not when her mother died, when Stacy came back, or even when he'd chosen drugs over her. The two male nurses restrain her with brute strength, and still without his cane, he's making good time. 

Even when he's standing right in front of her, she doesn't see him. It's only when his hands cup her face and he orders her to look at him that she remembers who he is to her.

That's when she breaks more than ever before. She clings to his body, adrenalin wasting to strips of nothing, oblivious to the disappearance of his cane and the people around them. Holding on tightly, she wills the tears to stay hidden because part of her can't accept the news.

"What's wrong, Cameron?"

She can't find the words to say anything and instead, buries her head in the crook of his neck, needing any comfort he can give.

"Cameron? Allison!"

It's all he can do to not shake her even as the death grip she has on him won't allow it.

Hoarsely, she whispers, "Greg," against his neck, fighting for the last bit of control within herself.

"Tell me what happened."

"My brother, my brother, House."

* * *

A/N: Well, I wasn't sure this sequel was gonna happen but my other story isn't working. And I'm kinda switching things up a bit. There is a full poem...but you'll only get it in pieces...so no hints! lol. Hopefully, I can live up to ABP. Anyways, thanks guys. 


	2. Lies are always better than truth

**Title** – A Missing Poem: ABP Sequel

**Poem Piece** – _Tell me everything is fine. Lies are always better_ _than truth._

* * *

Okay, italics is the past. Regular, is present.

* * *

One. She interlocks her fingers. 

_This will break her heart, or it will save her. She doesn't know if it even matters. As she sits down, her legs almost trembling from over two hours of pacing and walking, her head falls into her hands. Fatigue is welcome, it's even wanted, but if she gives in, how will she look at herself if imagination turns into reality? _

_The fifty-second whish of the cane through stale hospital air is enough to snap whatever patience she has. As she continues with her pacing to where he sits in one of the waiting chairs, her first thought is to physically throw him out of the waiting room. Her second thought is to sit at his feet with her head cradled over his lap and his hands gently brushing her hair. She doesn't realize the third choice until she's finally done it. His cane is in her grasp before she realizes it._

Two. She leans her elbows on her knees.

_He watches her rest her chin on his cane just like he's done so many times before. She's watching the double doors, waiting for the doctors to come out and give her meaningless news. He's waiting too. Waiting for inevitability. He's waiting to be wrong, except he knows he's not. _

_The woman and child come into the room, the woman running and nearly dragging the dark haired girl behind her. Her mascara is running, her blonde hair in tangles and clumps, and her face is wrought with fear. The four year old girl tries to catch her breath as her mother lets her hand go. As she stares at her sister-in-law, Cameron's strength finally comes undone. When her niece comes to her, there's nothing left to do but to reach out her arms to find some comfort she can't feel._

Three. She looks at the television set.

_Hours go by on the small clock located on the nearly bare wall. Her no longer cane-less man is gone to work on a case, and she holds what very well may be the last of her brother, in her arms. The girl doesn't say a word, even to ask where her mother, Marly, has disappeared to. It's only them two in this seemingly empty, small space. Her eyes close, her beating heart matches that of Isabelle's heart. Through all the chaos, both of them, alone with their own befuddled thoughts, are more at peace than ever._

Four. She can smell the soft scent of the sofa.

_Several employees of the hospital come to offer their sincerest apologies, trying smiles, and even earnest platitudes meant to soothe. Her mouth always moves to say 'Thank you,' but she'll never remember it after tonight. The doors she's been staring at for so long finally open in what is more anticlimactic than her first kiss. _

_Marly stands first, her hand clutching her throat and eyes already watering. But Cameron can't stand at all. Words enter her ears, register in her brain, and she completely understands. Which doesn't mean she accepts it. Her sister-in-law brings a hand to her mouth, her silent breakdown almost as audible as a whistling firecracker. Little girl Isabelle looks to her mother clinging to the doctor in the blood covered gown, and then to her aunt losing her hold on everything solid. _

He's missing his big spoon, and that would be her. Limping into the living room, giving up trying to sleep without her pressed against his backside, he finds the darkness more dark than dark had ever been to him. He stops, not sure if she's even in the room because the silence is so calm and placid.

Five. She forgets to listen.

_If only she could block out the sound of Marly's sobs coming from that room, she might almost be fine. Her brother is in ICU, broken and battered, living only because the machine forces needed air into his beaten lungs. This is what it's come down to for them: A small room, blinds down, a beeping monitor, and a hysterical woman saying goodbye to one man and his life. Carefully, through blurry tired eyes, she looks to the wall, reading the clock. Thirty two minutes since Marly walked into her husband's room, not ready to let go. _

_Isabelle Daniels tugs her hand and she's forced to look into blue green eyes so much like her own, so much like her brother's. The Daniels' eyes they all had. Eyes she never wants to see again._

Only because his eyes have adjusted to the dark, does he see her sitting on the sofa, staring into the television set with something he'd define as determination. Her long hair, braided simply down her small back, starkly contrasts between her white sleep shirt and shorts. If she wasn't a praying person, he'd swear she is.

Six. She closes her eyes.

_She stands in the doorway, her hands bracing herself on the doorframe. She looks as if she's run down the entire hospital to get to this place. Her hair is plastered to her face, chest rising and lowering rapidly with shallow breaths, body slouching from too much exertion and discipline. He's sleeping on his bed, and maybe it's why she can't force herself into his space. Maybe it makes it less real if she stays just out of his reach. Her left hand begins to drift down the frame slowly, losing tension with the wood and finally coming down to her side with nothing but a sigh of despair. _

She should have heard his heavy footsteps before now. The fact that she hasn't, is enough to make him stop where he is. He can limp to her, ask her to come back to bed, let her hold him, and then fall asleep. He could. For a split second his leg jerks in a reflexive movement to step forward, but before he can go through with the action, she closes her eyes. She hasn't cried yet. She isn't crying tonight, but she also doesn't ask for him either. Another minute passes before he turns away to their room, waiting for her to stop him, but he makes it to their bed without a whisper from her.

Seven. She breathes.

* * *

Well, first off, the whole poem is now in the first chap. I'll let you guys speculate as to what might happen. Anyways, sorry for the wait. Hope you like. Muchas gracias, mi amigos y amigas.

-Wait, before I quit lol. Some readers would like me to explain the difference bw "real" love and "true" love. Here's why I think they're different. True love is often romanticised. I think of true love and think of romance novels and movies, which while I like, aren't very compatible in the real world. The real world isn't like a movie/book with happy endings and love that just beams out of every orifice. True love is a fairytale where it never goes bad. Real love however, is something I can identify more with. It's not smiles and happy times, it's mingled with pain and regret, fear and loneliness, and even hurt.

True love is like an ornament you keep on the shelf so it's never broken and stays clean. Real love is the rag doll you carry around even though it's dirty and nearly tore up. I don't know if that helps or if anyone even wants to read this mess, but lol, there it is. Sorry if I can't explain it that well.


	3. Tell me there's a reason forfallingapart

**Title** – A Missing Poem: ABP Sequel

**Poem Piece **- _Tell me everything is fine. Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart._

She's losing herself, moment by heavy moment. If she's not careful, she just might fade completely into some abyss she's tried to forget. With reddened hands barely discernable as trembling, she catches the freezing cold water shouting from the simple water faucet. She should be washing her face. Instead, she's captivated by the clear, unwavering, menace numbing her hand in a war of mind versus matter. In this battle, matter takes over mind.

One heavy step forward, one click of wood striking hard floor, another not so heavy step, and silence arrives. He's almost to the doorway, not knowing this is as far as his Allison Cameron has managed. Balloons, flowers, pictures, cards, line the bare wall and shelf usually a homely constant. Pictures show the man with hair as dark as his sister's, more wavy, but there's the same smile he suddenly realizes he's missing.

The man in the bed however, exhibits none of these features. He's barely recognizable under bandages and casts, suffering from the tragedy of drunk driving by some stranger, silently. The man with the cane, the one who sees the cream colored coat of the brother's wife out of the corner of his eye, walks in the other direction. Marly Daniels is the last person he wants to be berated by again. He leaves with one thought: Pictures are more flattering.

They eat in cumbersome silence on the sofa in front of the television. He's not one to get her to open up unless he wants something. She's not one to dump her misgivings on someone who doesn't want to hear. They get ready for bed in thready hesitation. He wants to comfort her in some way. She wants nothing but to grab a bottle of his scarce bourbon and hide until the morning. They try to close their eyes. He knows she should have some peace before facing the realities around the bend. She knows tonight is not the night to be his big spoon. They each say nothing as she rises from the bed to get dressed and he never turns around to watch her leave.

She would gladly take his place. If she could sell her soul to some devil she doesn't believe in, there wouldn't be hesitation. Such are the thoughts of a woman stuck between harsh reality and hopeful imagination. Standing in the doorway once more, she feels the barrier between them slowly suffocating her until with one swift step, she's crossed it. She hasn't come this far to break like a little girl. Her next few steps whisper faintly like soft linen dragging on a forgotten dusty, wooden floor.

The chair, usually occupied by Marly and Isabelle, is empty now after visiting hours have fallen. Her knees meet the side of the bed with the chair being so close to her living brother as she sits. Even though she's a doctor who's seen more than her fair share of gruesome and horrible accidents, looking at him makes her sick to her stomach. Half his face is covered by bandages with the exposed skin puckered and nearly as dark as a crisp night. His motionless body seems weak and lifeless in the sea of wires and tubes. Anyone would know this is not her brother.

"Alan?"

Her voice screams in her tender ears while merely croaking in the veil of the real world. She clutches at the sheet where the lower portion of his left forearm should be, but isn't because amputation was the only option some twelve hours ago. The rustling of extra fabric gives her an anchor, bringing her back from the verge of running out.

"I'm sorry for everything."

All her life, she's been sorry for something or other. But with him, she's sorry because all the things she wants to say, no longer matter. He's the only brother who'd give her every spare moment of his time, even as he was walking out the door for the Navy. He's the only person who could make her black and white world turn hazily gray as she grappled with the decision to tell him his bride to be, Marly, wasn't faithful days before the wedding.

She closes her eyes, counting the steady beeps floating from the machine by her head. Overcome with exhaustion, her head slowly makes way to the spot where her hand has just relinquished. She makes sure he has enough room should he need it, but wants to get close enough to feel his nearness. The left side of her face rests on the bed over her hands as she wonders not for the first time, what death must feel like.

Her chest tightens abruptly and she immediately closes her eyes while her heart suddenly feels a thousand pounds heavier with each throbbing, aching beat. Every appendage of her body tingles like pins being lightly poked all at once over already jittery nerves. Breathing becomes shallow and fast, almost unbearable. This is the closest she's come to crying since falling into House's arms over two days ago. This is hopelessness, once again. This is family, just like before. This is death, coming for another taste.

"Wake up, Alan. That's how it goes," she whispers before letting go to darkness that holds her dreams at bay tonight. That's how it goes. That's how it goes in fairy tales.

A/N: Well, I'm glad my ramble about true/real love sort of made sense. :) Anyways, there's more H/C in the next chapter I promise. But, again, how can we have more H/C without more drama? So, let's just see how it goes. Thanks.


	4. We both knowthe fault is mine

**Title** – A Missing Poem: ABP Sequel

**Poem Piece**- _Tell me everything is fine. Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart. We both know the fault is mine._

It happens in bits and pieces. Doesn't it always? One part fades as the machine is unplugged. It struggles for breath even as one man holds onto her arm so she doesn't fall. Another piece drifts away with every 'Sorry,' said as she's seen. A little bit tears down as she bows her head over the blank white paper meant for his eulogy. A huge bit dies as she stands with one single white flower over his casket. The day is unusually sunny with birds chirping and bugs flying. She lets the flower fall.

He watches her, of course. When has he never? He stands behind her as her brother is untethered from machines, curious over her stoicism. He becomes irritated as everyone comes forth with apologies. Why are they sorry? And as she sits at the lone coffee table, the white pen nowhere near her fingers, he can't bring himself to go to her. She had never asked him to go to the funeral, even when he expected her to. Instead, he had told her he was going, garnering only raised eyebrows and a slight nod.

She stands alone, apart from the rest of the crowd with her arms crossed loosely. The wind shifts just barely, an ominous omen if there ever could be on such a beautiful day. He doesn't know why he's here. It could be because he's never met her family. It might be because he didn't want to work today. It may be because he loves her.

Her brother's wife is a ghost of someone once living. Her brother's daughter is alone in a world where no one is let in. Her brother…is now her dead brother. She turns, the thought fiercely thrown away because she doesn't want to face reality just yet. But then she sees him, leaning heavily on his cane under one of the tents. Reality just won't leave.

* * *

She's going to hate him, he thinks as he sits down with a dense sigh on the edge of the bed. She needs to deal with this before she loses herself, and he loses her in the process. He looks up as the bathroom door opens and she steps out in her tank top and long shorts.

20 minutes alone in the bathroom and she already knows what she's going to have to say. After all this, she's going to be the one to end it…or at least pause it. Staring at him, she finds herself angry. Why do they always end up here? Everything is circular with them, and that's not what she needs now.

"I love you."

To anyone listening, those words would sound gruff and uncaring, even false. To her, it crumbles the last part of her strong enough to stand. She covers her mouth, hoping not to cry out. Her eyes close, trying to control the storm raging. She sucks in one deep breath before he stands and she can't hold herself any longer.

He can feel her breaking from here. He can feel her sorrow dancing lazily across the room in mockery. He can feel her shake as he stops just inches from everything that is her.

She manages one word before her world turns blurry. "House…." She should have known she couldn't hold it forever. It's not healthy for a person to go so long without dealing with reality. She shakes her head, still trying to fight it off for just a few more moments. Even as her shoulders jerk, the tears don't fall until she lets go. She wraps her thin arms around his healthy waist, presses her hurting head onto his strong shoulder, and cries.

He can only hold her. Any words are meaningless and she won't remember tomorrow anyways. His left hand slowly strokes her hair, almost as if she's a fragile china doll. At this point, it's not half wrong.

* * *

They've switched sides this time. She's the little spoon and he's the big one. He watches her side move as she breathes in and slowly out. It still surprises him that he cares so much. He cares even if he knows she was going to try to end it. 'Try,' being the operative word since Gregory House was not about to go down without a fight.

He mutters under his breath that he's going to yell at whatever demon is at his door this early in the morning and even opens his mouth to act when he suddenly starts. Marly Daniels, dressed impeccably in black and Little Isabelle Daniels, wearing a simple shirt and jeans, are standing on the front steps.

"I have to go away for a little while, Mr. House."

"And that's important because?"

Her voice is nearly shrill as she puts forward two suitcases. "It's just for a few days until I get everything settled."

"Wait a minute," he says, pushing the suitcases back.

"I can't do this!"

"Neither can I!"

"Allison will want her."

"Greg doesn't."

"You have to," she replies simply.

Blinking takes only a second, but in that second Marly Daniels has given her child over to him and his Cameron. The woman is gone before he can run after her, leaving him alone with the dark haired child.

* * *

A/N: Yep, that's my silly little twist. Maybe not so creative and oh so stunning, but there you have it. I'll try to keep this story alive okay? Okay. lol. Thanks guys. 


	5. Tell me I'm forced to fight it out

**Title - **A Missing Poem: ABP Sequel

_**Poem Piece - **__Tell me everything is fine.Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart. We both know the fault is mine. Tell me I'm forced to fight it out. _

"What do we do?"

He sighs from where he lays on the bed, hands behind his head. Looking at her back because she's sitting on the edge with elbows on knees, he shakes his head.

"Make our own personal sweatshop?"

"I could call social services."

"There's this spot at the mall where all these blind, homeless, deaf, people do tricks for money."

"Carol's got two kids. She would take Isa." She rubs her face.

"Then there's the obvious: Give her back."

"I haven't talked to Carol since...mom died. Wait, I did at Alan's funeral."

"We can't keep her."

"It's just a few days though. I have vacation days," she says to herself.

He wonders why he's talking to himself so early in the morning. He doesn't stop though.

"No way."

"Marly's bound to come back."

"The woman's off her rocker."

"I miss him."

Those last words, escaping her lips before she can stop them, change his mind for the time being. Being soft is still something new for him. He pretty much hates it.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he exhales slowly, causing her to finally turn to look at him. His right free hand taps his chest as he closes his eyes.

"I can...handle it for a few days."

When he doesn't hear anything, he opens his tired eyes to see her gently smiling. It's the closest he's seen her almost happy in a long string of days and weeks.

"Cameron?"

She shakes her head while finally coming to lie beside him. Finding her way to lay her head on his shoulder, she doesn't know what to think. She doesn't know where to go next. She doesn't even remember how she's gotten to this point. But he's here. He's still here, which means so is she.

"Thank you," she whispers near his ear, sure that he won't respond.

Which he doesn't.

* * *

"You look horrible." 

"You look more lecherous today. Scouting for the next Mrs.?"

"No sleep?"

"No sex?"

Wilson rolls his eyes, trailing after House into his office.

"What's up?"

He sits in the corner soft chair, eyes instantly closed, ready for much needed sleep.

"I'm sleeping."

"Then sleeptalk. Here, I'll lull you if you need-."

"Jeez, you don't stop!"

"I just want to make sure that you're being sensitive to Cameron about her brother."

"Oh, I'm being _more_ than sensitive. You know that kid? Yeah, mom dropped her off on my doorstep last night. _My_ doorstep. What the hell was she thinking?"

"What kid? What mom?"

"Cameron's niece. Cameron's sister-in-law."

"What are you guys going to do? You _obviously _can't keep her."

"What? Why not?"

"This isn't one of those, Tamagotchi things with a key chain. House...this is a kid. A real live kid."

"I'll have you know I was a master at that thing. Thing lived for like three days."

"You don't know how to take care of yourself. How are you going to take care of a kid?"

House pauses, the intensity of the subject finally beginning to gain weight. "Cameron knows."

* * *

He stares at the door, not sure whether or not to enter. If he was smarter, he would turn tail. If he was less in love, he would have. 

The smell of fresh garlic bread hits his nose first, followed by the smell of tomato sauce with what could only be pasta.

* * *

He sits across from the child at the table, each not saying a word into the bizarre day. He takes a drink from his glass of milk. She follows suit. He wipes the milk from his lip. The child does the same. They both turn at the sound of soft footsteps.

* * *

She's smiled the entire day. He thinks about it as he steps out the shower and puts a dark blue towel around his waist. Walking into their room, he knows she's in living room, reading god knows what she could possibly find to the girl. It's a welcome change from the quiet, sober, woman he's been living with. 

Twenty minutes later, she rests against the door frame, arms crossed. He's fast asleep. Sometimes, he looks so normal. Hearing the rustle of covers, she turns her head back to make sure Isa's still lying on her makeshift bed. When silence regains its hold, she turns back to watch her boyfriend finally being quiet.

She honestly doesn't know how she's going to do this. She can barely make it out of bed these mornings, but with Isa here now, she has a reason. Hoping it's enough, she walks into the room, eyes only on him.

There's space between them; there usually is. She's outgrown that need to face him while they sleep, but tonight, she feels the need to do it one more time. She needs the connection to another human being, to keep her safe, like only he can. It never crosses her mind that everything will change. What she needs will change. What she wants will change. And he won't.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys. So...first off, my deepest apologies for letting this go un-updated(?) for so long. I don't know what happened to me. My inspiration just...flew off for a time. But after one reviewer of another story asked for an update, I literally hung my head in...something close to shame I believe. It had never hit me that some of you really do miss this story. **

**So, again, sorry. And sorry for the weirdness of this chapter. Let me get back in the groove! Thanks guys.**


	6. Give me hope for something constant

**Title** - A Missing Poem:ABP Sequel

**Poem Piece - **_Tell me everything is fine. Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart. We both know the fault is mine. Tell me I'm forced to fight it out. Give me hope for something constant._

The girl has dark, wavy hair. Her eyes are just like her brother's, just like her own, just like their father's. Her skin isn't pale like her own, this she gets from Alan. In fact, she favors her father more than her mother, so much so, that Marly was often asked if Isa were her child.

At four years old, the girl isn't like most others. She's quiet, incredibly shy, a whisper of a shadow. Cameron brushes Isa's hair, clips two barrettes to keep the hair out of her face, and admires her niece.

"That alright?"

Isa nods her head solemnly, though gives no auditory answer.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

The girl shrugs her shoulders and Cameron sighs with a smile, not sure where to start.

* * *

"How's Cameron doing?" 

He looks up from his desk and leans back. "Fine."

Chase nods his head, fighting the urge to rub his neck. "And you?"

"A little blue. You know, with Uranus sitting on top of us, my schwongs all out of whack."

"I...don't know what that means, but okay."

"Something relevant to the case you want to talk about, 'cause if not, you're wasting my time."

"Working for you has been hell."

"I strive to achieve."

"I'm transferring to Yale."

House pauses a beat. "Not New Haven?"

"Yes."

"They actually _want_ you?"

"If I worked for you for almost four years, they think I must be good. And I am."

* * *

"Chase is quitting!" 

"What? Why?!"

"I came onto him!"

"If that were true he'd be staying!"

He smirks from where he sits at the piano, trying to ignore the smallest elephant in the room. It doesn't work because he glances at her sitting on the floor, coloring something on white paper.

"When's he leaving?!"

"Three weeks! Now it's just me and Newguy!"

"His name's Jackson!"

"Same difference! Are you done cooking yet?!"

"No!"

"How 'bout now?!"

"No, House!"

"What 'bout now?!"

"Ask me that one more time."

He looks up to see her standing in the living room, a wooden spoon pointed directly at him.

* * *

"What's wrong with her?" 

"What? Nothing!"

House rolls his eyes and makes sure the girl keeps her hands on the piano and not in her mouth.

"Kid hasn't said more than five words."

"Her father just died and her mother just left her out on the street. What do you expect? Give me that dish."

He hands it over, grabbing the next one to dry. "Normal four year olds are eating their boogers, painting the walls, and gabbering about the most insipid things ever."

Their conversation is cut short when the girl in question, suddenly tugs on his pant leg. He looks down, a frown on his face.

"Whatcha want?"

Isa twirls a strand of hair between her fingers and looks from the piano to him. "Will you play? Please?"

The poke in the middle of his back prompts him to grab his cane resting by the kitchen counter, though he doesn't say anything.

* * *

The strong notes filter through the apartment, sound suddenly being so beautiful. She's heard this classical song many times before and so she hums while wiping down the table. When she finally glances to the piano, she stops suddenly. 

His hands move deftly, without pause, across the instrument. His body consumes half the bench and dwarfs the girl five-fold. But she could swear they fit perfectly. Whenever his left hand needs to move further down the scale, Isa leans to the back and to the left. Her head softly follows the rhythm, along with her left foot which doesn't reach the floor.

The music stops, and he looks at the girl beside him, a wide smile on her face.

"You like that?" he asks gruffly.

She emphatically nods her head.

"You ain't heard nothin' yet."

This one she hasn't heard in a few weeks. It's part of his jazz obsession, and the tug of her heart makes her realize why he hasn't played it. The song starts slow, rising with every bar into an intense, furiously fast, crescendo, of strung together notes.

By the end, he's smiling along with his small companion. And her? She smiles as well, though the taste of salt finding her lips makes her turn away. He'd been teaching her that song when Alan had died, though not very successfully. She'd forgotten.

* * *

**A/N: I know. I know. Not the best chap, I'm still getting used to this again. Next chap is pretty good though, I must say. Thanks always, guys. **


	7. Tell me pain is fleeting

_Tell me everything is fine. Lies are always better than truth. Tell me there's a reason for falling apart. We both know the fault is mine. Tell me I'm forced to fight it out. Give me hope for something constant. Tell me pain is fleeting._

She lifts her head, dark circles under barely blue eyes. The shadows make her look older. The half darkness makes her paler. The whole room makes her look lonelier. He knows what she wants from him, and he also knows he won't give it. He's tired of giving.

"It's been a month."

His voice echoes in the solemn room and she winces subtly.

"She asked...what Alan was like. That's it."

Akin to a crack, her voice has never been so nearly nonexistent.

"I was fine, House." She shakes her head from where she sits on the edge of the bed. "And then I wasn't."

Taking one hesitant step forward, he holds the frustrated sigh in his mind.

"Accidents happen, even to people who don't deserve them. I get that he was your brother. I get that he was almost your everything, but you hadn't spoken to him in five months. Hadn't seen him in over two years."

"You don't know what it's like."

Said so simply, she wonders for a fluttering beat, if it really is that simple.

"No...I don't," he acquiesces to the silence for a moment.

"You," he begins to make his way towards her, "need to fix whatever you think you broke with him, and you can't. He's dead. So, you take in his kid, thinking you can somehow make it up to him by fixing her, since she's just as screwed up as the rest of us are now."

"Damage," she states on a breath.

"Damage," he replies forcefully.

There are moments, sometimes brief and fleeting, when she seriously doubts where she is. She doubts her place with him, and him with her. The old 'damaged' argument always resurfaces, and this time, she doesn't care to hear it. She doesn't analyze him, telling him about it, hoping it will tear him down. Maybe she should.

The shawl around her shoulders, the same one she'd worn as she slept with her feet in his lap so long ago, drifts from her hold as she stands. It falls limply, half on the warm bed and half on the almost clean floor, tired and old. One slipper falls off her right foot as she moves past him, making sure not to look at him. The other escapes, somewhere from his room to the door leading her outside.

The freezing night penetrates to her core, and she relishes it. The seeping dampness of the concrete filters into her already cold feet, making her shiver. A white mist dances out her mouth as she exhales into a night too bright for her liking.

A few minutes pass and she almost walks down the few steps leading out into the street. She would disappear, lost to a town full of people and never recognizable faces. But she hears the doorknob turn, and it's too late because he's standing with her.

"It's too cold out here."

She doesn't say anything. He doesn't expect her to. She's trying to get lost again, but he can't let her. Why does he always end up having to pull her back?

He grabs her right forearm, but when she doesn't move, he pulls her forcefully to him. At her gasp, he makes her come closer to him even as she struggles.

"Stop it, Cameron. Just let it go already!"

"You, you can't ask me that! You don't know!"

"I don't need to! You think you're the only who's been handed the short stick? Do you honestly think this is the worst it's going to get? It's not! But we have to learn to deal with it! We keep it with us, and then we hide it. It's all we can do."

She doesn't want to listen to him, but she can't pull away, he's holding her so close. She slaps his chest three times, each time hoping he'll fall to the ground, but he doesn't. And once the tantrum is over, she hates herself for the thought.

The cry drains from her lips, hoarse and dry, into his chest. It's one cry, solitary and forlorn. Then the silence creeps forth, and he doesn't know what to say. She does.

"Does it ever go away?" she whispers.

He pauses, sure of the answer but not so sure of the effects it will have. "It'll get easier."

The stillness of her body doesn't give any hint of her reaction. Somewhere, a car honks its horn and he feels her shiver. She leans into him to open the door with her hand and he releases his hold around her. They walk in, making sure not to wake the girl, and lie in bed, each needing the other spoon.

* * *

**A/N: Well...guys...I'm done. I know But I can't...I mean...I've lost it. The story line isn't quite what I wanted it to be, and it took too long for me to get back in "ABP" zone. As far as sequels go, I think I will never try one again because it's just too much for me. **

**So, this is the final chapter unless someone else wants to pick it up for me because I've just lost it.**

**And if you would like me to tell you what I had in mind for this story, I could post it as the 8th chapter, though it wouldn't be a chapter. I just know if it was me reading an about to be discontinued story, I'd like to know how it would've ended.**

** Thanks guys for pushing me try to write it again.  
**


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